One can understand, such a
night, why, from the days of the Pharaohs or Job, the dome of heaven,
sprinkled with planets, has supplied the subtlest, deepest criticism
on human pride, glory, ambition.
_Another Winter Night_.--I don't know anything more _filling_ than
to be on the wide firm deck of a powerful boat, a clear, cool,
extra-moonlight night, crushing proudly and resistlessly through this
thick, marbly, glistening ice. The whole river is now spread with it
--some immense cakes. There is such weirdness about the scene--partly
the quality of the light, with its tinge of blue, the lunar twilight
--only the large stars holding their own in the radiance of the moon.
Temperature sharp, comfortable for motion, dry, full of oxygen. But
the sense of power--the steady, scornful, imperious urge of our strong
new engine, as she ploughs her way through the big and little cakes.
_Another_.--For two hours I cross'd and recross'd, merely for
pleasure--for a still excitement. Both sky and river went through
several changes. The first for awhile held two vast fan-shaped
echelons of light clouds, through which the moon waded, now radiating,
carrying with her an aureole of tawny transparent brown, and now
flooding the whole vast with clear vapory light-green, through which,
as through an illuminated veil, she moved with measur'd womanly
motion. Then, another trip, the heavens would be absolutely clear,
and Luna in all her effulgence. The big Dipper in the north, with the
double star in the handle much plainer than common.
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